


Hell Or High Water

by Daxii, maybeillride



Category: Free!
Genre: Ace!Rin, Angst, Communication Failure, Established Relationship, Friendship, Future Fic, Heels, Humour, Infidelity, Lingerie, M/M, Relationship breakdown, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-03-23 14:58:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3772585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daxii/pseuds/Daxii, https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybeillride/pseuds/maybeillride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haru knows something's up with Makoto but can't figure out why ... all he knows is their thrill is gone. So he's gonna find a way to get it back come Hell or High Water - good thing his bestie Rin is there to save him from drowning...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Slip into something more comfortable

“Why did you bring _me_?” Rin demands, quietly.  

“Because my other option was Kisumi and I think I’d rather live in the desert,” Haru shoots back immediately, yanking Rin down an aisle with a clawlike grip on his elbow.

“What are you even _looking_ for?”

“Just… something exciting,” Haru decides, glancing around the store. This isn’t exactly a new experience for him… he’s done this _online_ before, but… well.

He can’t exactly try anything out online.

He pauses mid-aisle to paw through a display of adult costumes. Maid, schoolgirl, cat, vampire; he gives each one the same dissatisfied, cursory once-over before flicking to the next. Rin slouches next to him, looking incredulous.

He picks the discarded maid costume off the rack, holds it to himself and looks down like he’s assessing the fit. “People _buy_ this stuff? People _wear_ this stuff? God, why?”

Haru fingers the loose stitches barely holding the red crosses on a nurse costume. “I know. I can’t believe they want 5000 yen for this. _I_ could make it better.”

Rin shakes his head as he puts the black-and-white minidress back.

“No, I mean why the fuck is dressing up like a nurse supposed to get your partner off? I’ve been in the hospital. There isn’t anything remotely ‘sexy’ about it.”

“It’s supposed to help you both fantasise,” Haru says absently as he gets to the end of the rack.

“You need a _costume_ to do that? You can’t use your imagination?” Rin pulls a mermaid fin out, plastered in green sequins, holds it up to Haru’s waist. “That just seems sad.”

“This from the kid who forced us to trick or treat every Halloween.” Haru’s already continuing down the aisle and Rin has to put the mermaid tail back hurriedly to catch up.

They pass a display of butt plugs, next to a stretch of beads and rings, all hanging almost innocently like something in a hardware store. He can see a bit of a blush colouring Rin’s cheeks, but he knows _damn well_ he’s not as innocent as he makes out, and shoots him an appropriate smirk.

“Don’t,” Rin hisses, right up in his ear. Haru links their arms, and all Rin can do is groan.

Rin may be asexual, but Haru’s cleaned him up enough times after his one night stands from their drunken college nights to know he’s not naïve, however much he’s ended up regretting it.

Haru keeps them moving. They _have_ all that stuff. They have so many dildos and vibrators it could qualify as a collection. He’s pretty sure Nagisa bought them some furry handcuffs as a gag gift the Christmas before last… and none of that is what he’s here for.

He drags Rin on to the back of the store, pulling them between a pair of practically-nude mannequins.

Rin’s voice drops several notches. “ _Haru_.”

“What?” he quips, picking something off a rack. Something green. Makoto likes green.

“This… I’m no expert but I don’t think this is meant for you.”

“It’s just panties, Rin.”

“ _Panties,_ Haru,” Rin breathes, face heating as he casts a sharp glance to the floor when Haru brings the garment up to his hips. “And _those_ are…” and goes instantly silent as he accidently notices the garter belts. “Shit.”

All Haru knows is he’s after something to make Makoto _look at him_ , because dammit he is _done_ with his… holding back. The dwindling number of times Makoto initiates _anything._ The way his face just freezes solid whenever Haru’s in the mood. He’s done with the big, familiar hand that grabs Haru’s wrist, that stops him when Haru reaches back in bed for his morning wood. If he has to whack himself off again in the shower _one more time_ , he might just fucking explode.

Makoto doesn’t want him…

“What’s Makoto doing today, anyway?” Rin asks, trying to avoid the awkward looks they’re getting from the female store assistants in this section.

“I told Kisumi to hang out with him,” Haru says. At least that guy comes in handy for _something_. He snatches up something _black_ and _lacy, oh_.

“Huh,” Rin acknowledges.

And then something catches his eye.

“What about that?” and he points to something blue.

Haru takes it, holding it up against himself. He likes the way the flexible metal sewn into the fabric of the corset (he has no idea if that’s what it’s _supposed_ to be called) drops down in a V, the straight lines of it. Makes it seem almost… no-nonsense. Bad-ass. There’s sheer, matching stockings too with a strip of floral lace at the top, and everything’s edged in satin.

“Matches your eyes,” Rin mutters.

Haru blinks at him before looking back down at it. “Yeah,” _…yes._ He gets a full scenario, popping into his mind like the underwear is delivering it to him. Makoto and he getting home from work at the same time, late. Letting him use the bathroom first to shower. Letting him think Haru’s gonna start the tub running. As usual.

Coming out and pausing in the doorway to their bedroom, waiting, patiently. Waiting for Makoto to notice, glancing up from where he’s stretched quietly in bed, reading some trashy paperback with his narrow glasses on that make him look so good.

Looking up in surprise, eyes open wide. No frown this time.

“I think I need shoes too,” Haru says, voice catching.

Rin crosses his arms on his chest. “What, high heels? Stripper shoes? How are you gonna walk in those, Haru?”

Haru’s peering around in their section for the shoes. “I’m not gonna need to _walk._ ”

Rin leans forward, drops his head down onto Haru’s shoulder. “More visuals. Thanks,” his hair smells good, his gel or maybe his shampoo, fresh and herbal.

“Come on. They’re over there.” Haru gently pats his head and Rin looks up, his face uncomfortably close, but Haru doesn’t mind. He lays a brief kiss on his friend’s cheek. “You should try a pair on too. Wear ‘em with your uniform.”

Rin’s laughing, for the first time since they walked in the door.

“Yeah. Mikoshiba’d _love_ that. He’d probably make it standard-issue for the whole station.”

“Mmm. Sexy,” Haru smirks at him, folding the flimsy blue things over one arm. It’s odd how much better he feels with them. “I’m sure there’s a spandex cop dress over there. Get your legs out, since summer’s coming.”

“If you say so,” Rin answers, rolling his eyes, but begins a search for Haru’s size anyway. He steers him to something with more of a wedge than a stiletto. He’s not dealing with his broken ankles. “You’re buying me ice-cream for this,” he demands.

“Anything you want,” Haru smiles, letting Rin help him balance as he teeters to a stand in the strappy shoes, because he understands. Rin’s about a universe or two out of his comfort zone, just because he loves him.

Holding his hands, Rin guides him for a few steps, giving him a grateful squeeze. Haru understands, Haru’s _always_ understood, no matter how much he may tease him on the side. He hopes this works out for them, for Haru’s sake.


	2. Like a Wedding Night In Reverse

Makoto would rather be relaxing alone – or better, relaxing with _Haru_ , but alas, the love of his life has gone off gallivanting with Rin somewhere. Again. And he’s even arranged a play date for him with Kisumi as some kind of fucked-up consolation prize.

Whoop-de-fucking-do.

He feels a little bit guilty over his lack of interest in their new friend – the journalist always hanging out in Haru’s coffee shop – but he’s just not in the mood. All he wants is Haru.

Makoto has to force his smile as he opens the door at Kisumi’s cheery knock, five minutes early for their one o’clock arrangement. He’s _beaming_ at the door.

“Makot _oooo_ ,” he sings, practically bouncing with anticipation as Makoto steps aside to let him in.

“Ah… hey,” Makoto replies reflexively, practiced politeness all over. He’s weirdly on edge around Kisumi. He feels like he could relax just too easily with this guy, and he’s still keeping his guard up. Haru doesn’t even like him, which makes Makoto even more suspicious of why Kisumi’s been sent to otherwise occupy Makoto for a few hours. Just what are he and Rin _doing_?

Makoto hasn’t planned anything for them. Doesn’t know what he _could_ plan with this guy, but Kisumi just sways into the lounge and happily takes to the couch like he lives there. Makoto heads to the kitchen and decides _fuck it_ , grabbing two cans of beer from the fridge. A sigh escapes him when he sits down, and Kisumi’s smile falters when he takes the can.

“Bad day?” he asks, flipping into serious so fast Makoto gets whiplash.

Kisumi just has this face, and he knew he should have been more wary, maybe said he’d go and visit his parents or something, because he can’t help what he’s saying. He’s been told that _he’s_ easy to confide in. Maybe more people should spend five minutes alone with Shigino Kisumi, because this man just seems to be a _god_ of empathy.

“Something like that…” Makoto mumbles.

Kisumi hunches over to rest his arms on his knees – the guy is nothing but limbs – tilting his head towards Makoto, open and willing. “Trouble in paradise?”

“Ah… I wouldn’t say _trouble_ …”

“I’m all ears, friend,” and Kisumi smiles this _smile_ and Makoto’s lost all willpower entirely.

He takes a hearty swig for good luck. “Haru just doesn’t seem that… _interested_ anymore.”

“You mean sex?”

“No… no,” Makoto shakes his head. _Definitely_ not sex. “That’s all he wants these days… he’s never just here to hang out and cuddle up together… we don’t do _couple stuff_ anymore.”

“Well he’s obviously still _attracted_ to you if he still wants sex… and I mean, you’re both so busy…”

“It’s not even that though,” Makoto’s ploughing ahead now, finding his feet, finally voicing his concerns, even though Kisumi really has no right to know. Makoto’s not even sure if he _wants_ Kisumi to know. “He’s always so nervous… like he’s only doing it for _my_ sake. I don’t think he even enjoys it anymore…”

Kisumi’s silent for a moment. Probably because Makoto’s just crossed every line in the book and it’s gotten way too personal, but then he’s sitting up, leaning back and putting on a warm smile that feels more genuine than anything Makoto’s seen in months.

“Do you love him?” he asks.

Makoto nods. So much it almost hurts, but…

“Does he love you?”

“I don’t know,” Makoto whispers.

Haru hasn’t said it in months.

 

Rin pulls up across from Makoto and Haru’s house and feels his friend tense next to him. He reaches a hand out to push his hair behind his ears, cupping his cheek to turn his head to get the other side.

“Hey butt-munch,” and at least that gets Haru’s eyes to open wide, the lightest shade of a smile showing. “You gonna be alright?”

Haru nods, leaning into the hand on his cheek and relaxing with a sigh. “Yeah… thanks for coming with me.”

Rin smiles. “Ice-cream date next weekend, right?”

“Promise.”

“And text me, yeah? Let me know how it goes.”

Haru narrows his eyes. “ _You_ don’t want to know…”

Rin smirks, patting Haru’s cheek. “You know what I mean.” He pulls Haru forward and kisses his other cheek. “Good luck. Love you.”

Haru squeezes the hand over his face, pulling it off as he turns to open the door. “You too,” he tells him.

 

Haru calls out a “hey” when he gets in, setting a nondescript white shopping bagat the bottom of the stairs. Makoto’s in the lounge, head peering over the back of the sofa when Haru walks in.

“You want dinner?” Haru asks him, walking over and threading his fingers through his messy pile, combing it smooth.

“Mm,” Makoto hums and nods. “Did you have a nice time? Get what you were after?”

Haru smirks. Makoto hardly _ever_ sees Haru smirk. “ _Yep_.”

He’s curious. Just _what_ have they been up to? “Can I see?”

“Mmhmm, later,” Haru tells him, such a happy little light in his eyes. “Let me feed you.”

Makoto follows him into the kitchen as Haru sets about cooking, pulling out all the little packets and boxes and putting them on the counter, and going to wash his hands before he starts slicing and dicing. Makoto recognises the ingredients for his favourite.

“What did I do to deserve this?” he stands behind Haru, slowly sliding his hands around his waist.

“Oh, you know,” Haru shrugs off-handedly. The words aren’t there but Makoto fancies he hears what Haru _really_ means, and he dips down to kiss Haru’s cheek and is pleasantly surprised when Haru tilts his head for a quick kiss to his lips too.

“How was your day? You’re in a good mood,” Haru asks.

“Alright. Better, now,” Makoto squeezes him.

 

Magic Relationship Saver in-hand (more accurately, in-closet), Haru… postpones his next move.

He doesn’t know _why,_ exactly. Maybe it’s the awkwardness of the over-the-top things, put up on the highest shelf behind the extra towels. Something must’ve possessed him that day, and that something was… oh… 175 cm. tall, with crazy red hair, and a weird knack for helping Haru do the dumbest things, even when it was his own idea…

It’s been a week since he dragged Rin out to get the lingerie, since he and Makoto ended up just turning on the TV in a curry-induced stupor and heading to bed early without another mention of the bag, and each day only makes him question his judgement a little more.

 _Why_ did Haru think seeing him in women’s underwear would magically crank Makoto’s motor, again? They’ve never crossdressed with each other before, and Haru has no clue if Makoto even likes it. Well… except for Makoto’s thing, the way he used to call him “pretty” and “beautiful,” even if Haru can’t recall the last time. Maybe that’s what sent him into the women’s section, some intuitive (desperate?) jump his brain made from being _called_ pretty to trying to _look_ pretty.

But for all he knows, Makoto might take one look at him, posing in the door of their bedroom in his teddy and stockings and thong, and laugh his ass off.

Or worse, get a stunned look – then a flicker of disgust, maybe, something on pure reflex – and go all overly polite, doing the little fake chuckle and joking that he’s been spending too much time with Rin lately. Then apologize about an early morning tomorrow and turn on his side.

Haru doesn’t know what he’d do if that happened. So he does nothing.

He’s at work the following Saturday, piping ganache onto a tray of devil’s food cupcakes, and he’s so into perfecting each little spiral he hardly notices the buzz of his cell phone in his back pocket. Then it goes off again.

He sighs, setting the pastry bag down and rubbing his hands with the towel over his shoulder, and gets the phone out.

**BitchBaby:** _hey Haru wtf – have you done this yet or not?? Where are all the pics of your gorgeous ass? (not that I wanna see em) and the stories of how hot the sex was? (not that I wanna HEAR em)_

Then:

**BitchBaby:** _if you didn’t do it what’s up? You ok?_

A week’s worth of composure, and two little words looking up at him from his phone’s screen and Haru’s on the edge of tears. He closes the tip on the pastry bag then ducks out the back door, where the only company he may get is a stray cat who’s learned it can charm scraps off Haru. But there’s no cat today, and he leans against the brick wall of the café and attacks the keyboard.

**Sent:** _no. I haven’t. status quo is seeming safer rn_

Rin apparently burns the satellite link with the speed and passion of his reply.

**BitchBaby:** _what?? So you prefer this Walking Dead thing you guys have going on? What happened, you were so confident last week. you afraid you won’t look good? Casue I’m the one who’s ace and I’M pretty damn sure you will._

Haru pictures him, off to the side of the track at the gym or maybe putting in some overtime at work on a Saturday, scowling down at his phone, and he feels a stupid little smile spread on his own face.

**Sent:** _u saying u want a private show, cause that could be arranged_

Rin doesn’t answer. Haru’s heading back inside when his reply finally comes in.

**BitchBaby:** _Look, Haru, here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna go home today. You’re gonna put that pretty thing on. You’re gonna fuck Makoto’s brains out._

_…or so help me, ***I*** will._

Haru lets the back door wheeze shut, staring down at his phone. Then he ticks off a fast reply, smirking, their old familiar… _tickle_ dragging him in, irritating, addictive.

 **Sent:** honey, blue is not your color, I’m the artist. Also you touch him you lose a hand

Rin’s back to him instantly.

 **BitchBaby:** now THAT’S what I like to hear <3

 

Makoto’s home when Haru hurries out of breath up the walk, sweaty in his stiff chef smock. He drops the killswitch on the lawnmower and it sputters to a stop, and the way he just gapes to see Haru standing before him is hilarious.

Or would be, if Haru wasn’t staring just as hard at Makoto’s abs, which he’s thoughtlessly flashing to the whole neighborhood as he lifts his shirt to wipe his sweaty face with the hem. Haru swallows.

“Haru! Home so soon, did something happen?” He takes a step forward and drops the shirt, and Haru is both glad and disappointed.

“Makoto. You need to go shower.”

Makoto squints. “…is there something happening tonight?” He comes closer but still doesn’t touch Haru, probably doesn’t want to get him dirty, which is just _funny._

Haru grabs his wrist, tight, and marches inside so fast he can hear Makoto stumble a little as he tries to keep up, which is _also_ just funny, but there’s no stopping him now. He continues on up the stairs, Makoto not saying a word behind him, and stops at the bathroom.

“Go.” He gives Makoto a little push inside. “And be quick.”

Makoto stalls, and this time he looks… concerned, maybe starting down the path to angry, the one he hardly ever uses.

“Haru, what’s going on.”

Haru finally is able to slow down, somehow, taking his damp neck and pulling it down so he can reach Makoto’s ear. “You’ll see,” he whispers, and even in the heat and with Makoto getting mad, Haru watches him shudder, the tiniest bit.

Makoto obeys, and Haru’s amazed how fast he finishes, so fast Haru suspects he just ran the handheld showerhead around once and called it done. Haru hardly has time to shrug out of his polyester work uniform and dump it on their bedroom floor when Makoto’s standing in the door.

“Now what?” Makoto lost the _angry_ in the shower, but turned it into something else, and he stands with one hand holding his towel shut on his waist and the other tight on the doorframe.

Haru’s hands are shaking, just the littlest bit, so he fumbles as he gets the shopping bag down from the shelf. Makoto’s eyes are wide when he turns.

“Now you wait,” Haru says, hurrying past in his boxers with the bag and ducking into the bathroom.

Somehow, he keeps himself from the tub, but finds himself washing with a ridiculous amount of care under the shower as if to compensate. After he finishes he slicks his fingers with their herbal wash and braces his other hand on the wall, leaning forward and resting his forehead on his arm. He’s a little surprised at how… _elastic_ his rim is already when he dips inside, just pliable and almost supple. Like his unexpected little mental foreplay today has done its job. Then seeing Makoto sealed the deal.

He toys with himself for just a minute or two, imagining Makoto waiting, hoping he didn’t get the wrong idea and pull on his sleep sweats. When he’s out of breath he pulls out and shuts off the water. There’s no sound from next door.

It feels… so odd, snugging the thong over his hipbones, his semi stretching the sheer fabric. That’s just one way he’s gonna look ridiculous, but he doesn’t let himself stop as he lifts out the corset, wrapping it around and starting on the long line of hooks. He’s grateful Rin insisted he try it on at the store, because these things are not meant for a man’s body, and he’s amazed again that they somehow had one big enough to fit. It’s the kind with no real cups (that’s supposed to shove you up, he guesses) so at least he doesn’t have _that_ to worry about.

He sits on the edge of the bathtub to draw the stockings up his legs (glad his hair never grew in properly after all the waxing he did for swimming) and slips on the – high, _high_ – shoes. He’s ready.

He doesn’t _feel_ ready. But there’s no reason to wait any longer so he totters carefully around the corner, the shoes swinging his hips in little circles as he goes.

Haru feels his heart in his ears, his wrists where they press together behind his back. Makoto’s stretched on their bed, his narrow reading glasses on that make him look so sexy, reading some paperback.

But he hasn’t gotten dressed, he’s still barechested, just wearing the white bath towel around his hips, and Haru has a second to look at him before he notices Haru’s there. To watch him rock the heel of his hand absently against the bulge under his towel, like he’s teasing himself but also trying to hold himself off, too. He has this distracted look, like he’s miles away.

Then his eyes flicker up from the book and he sees Haru, balanced awkwardly on his toes and praying he won’t make a wrong move and fall over.

Makoto’s look of _amazement_ is so satisfying and Haru’s so relieved, he almost does fall over.

He makes a fast recovery, pacing to the bed. Makoto puts the book aside and sits up slowly enough he’s at the edge of the bed by the time Haru gets there, looking him over unabashedly.

“Haru,” he finally gets out. He reaches his big hands out to snug Haru’s waist, and they follow the waistband around. Haru’s amused to see his eyes widen again when they discover it’s a thong, but his hands stay put and don’t explore further. “What… what’s all this for? It isn’t even my birthday.” He laughs a little and Haru shyly rests his hands on Makoto’s strong shoulders.

“Why do I have to wait until your birthday to give you a gift?” _Does that mean you like it?_

And _then…_

Makoto spreads his legs wide and pulls him into the free space, wrapping him in his arms and burying his face where his tits would be in the corset, if he had them. His voice is muffled against the satin.

“Haru-chan, you’re so _beautiful._ You’re the prettiest person I’ve ever seen.” One of his hands caresses Haru’s back, gently.

Haru has all the proof he needs. He pushes Makoto back on the bed by the shoulders, maybe a little too hard, judging by the surprise on his face as he lands. “Whoa!” he laughs breathlessly.

Haru pounces on him and grabs his face. He kisses Makoto’s lips, still open like he was about to say something, and given the difference in size between their mouths Haru ends up just parking himself on his lower lip, enjoying how plump it is.

“Mmm,” Makoto hums, and it tickles. Haru pulls up to impatiently lift Makoto’s glasses off but Makoto stops him, trapping his hand.

“No, I want to be able to see you,” and his voice is an octave deeper than usual, and Haru dives back down in lieu of answering, his kiss sloppy and fast. When Makoto finally, _finally_ reaches around, groping him in the thong that leaves him completely bare, he gasps and drops his head down to Makoto’s shoulder.

But his first finger, questing gently – _too_ gently – inside stills almost immediately.

Haru stops too, where he was working the soft part of Makoto’s shoulder with his teeth and tongue.

“…you… you prepped yourself?” Makoto asks, his voice low. Haru pulls up again to find Makoto… not quite frowning, but he’s knitting his brows in his _worry_ look.

“In the shower,” Haru decides to say, because he can’t think of anything else. Why would Makoto worry about _that?_ Isn’t it flattering, that Haru would want him as soon as possible?

Now Makoto’s frowning. “Haru, you know that you… we don’t have to do this. If you don’t want to, for any reason–”

“Makoto, don’t be an idiot,” Haru snaps. _How_ could Makoto think that? Didn’t he fucking put on a full wedding-night get-up for him? How much clearer can he be?

Makoto’s fighting down anger, and Haru’s freezing, at how things are suddenly slipping. “Well I don’t know, Haru. I don’t want to hurt you and I’m not sure how that makes me an idiot.”

Haru stares down at him. “You wouldn’t hurt me.”

Makoto scoffs, the sound harsh. He struggles to sit and Haru falls out of his lap. “Haru, people hurt people all the time, and I never want to force something on you that’s too much for you.”

“I love how big you are,” Haru says without thinking, and then finds himself blushing like a schoolkid, slanting his eyes to the side. It’s way more than that, so much more, Makoto’s solidness filling him the way water fills the pool to the brim. It’s one of the best feelings. But he has no clue how to say that to Makoto without dying of embarrassment first.

When he manages to peek back up at Makoto he’s blushing too, hard, and with the anger and worry in his face he’s a mess. A sexy, frustrated-looking mess.

“Can I touch you, Haru?” he finally asks, and Haru lets out an exasperated huff-slash-growl as his need overflows. He yanks Makoto down on top of him, wrapping his legs around him and moaning as their erections grind together, Makoto’s towel lost somewhere. Makoto’s uncertainty is also apparently nowhere to be found, as he shoves his hands into Haru’s damp hair hard enough that Haru’s gasping into their kiss.

He fumbles down and cups Makoto’s perfect ass, the big muscles shifting as they move restlessly against each other, and he _squeezes,_ hard. Makoto bites his lip in surprise. His eyes are narrow and dark behind his glasses. Haru smirks up at him.

Then Makoto’s moving, faster than Haru can remember, so fast he’s like a striking snake, almost, and Haru’s just a little afraid in a way that makes his stomach twirl weightlessly. He comes back down to Haru with the little (barely-used) tube of lube in one hand and flips back the top, and thumbs the strip of fabric away from his hole, dips back inside him with two slick fingers. Haru tips his head back.

“…ahhh!” he breathes, and Makoto’s already prepped and ready at his entrance, and everything’s on fast-forward, and Haru just has time to re-secure his legs around him (sliding away in the damn stockings) when Makoto’s _shoving_ in.

“Ahhh - !” he gasps. Makoto’s not just pushing, he’s shoving, and it’s so not-like Makoto that Haru’s still weirdly uneasy and at the same time so turned on he feels light-headed. Even the rude burn and stretch is somehow drowned out by this wave of heat, this pulse where they’re fully joined now that can’t be Haru’s heartbeat ‘cause there’s no way it’s going that fast just lying down.

“…Mmm-Makoto,” he stutters and Makoto’s just as out of breath, like he’s been running too even though they haven’t even started moving. His hot puffs of air stir Haru’s hair as he rises onto his elbows.

“Moving now, Haru-chan,” Makoto whispers so seriously, and Haru can only nod back just as seriously, not a single word coming to mind. If he tries to speak, it feels like he’ll drown, which makes no sense but he doesn’t wonder and wraps his arms around Makoto’s neck instead. And then he just… holds on, because Makoto’s a galloping horse or maybe a crazy thrill ride.

But of course _Haru’s_ the one who’s being ridden here, and he can’t prevent this choked little sound each time Makoto drives inside him. Makoto isn’t holding back, and he _never_ lets go like this, and it’s _real._ There isn’t a trace of polite left as Makoto takes what he wants.

Haru’s glad to give it to him. Seeing Makoto like this, so free, is so startling he completely forgets about keeping track of his own climax or even that it’s necessary to have one. He just pants for breath in the stupid straightjacket-like corset, watching the fierce look on Makoto’s face soften and fall away, coming to a sudden stillness together as he feels Makoto finish deep inside. He holds Haru tight through it, almost clutching him, and _finally_ lets out a sound, this chain of moans that’s exhausted and has basically no relation to his usual speaking voice at all.

They just lay together then, getting their breath back, and Haru remembers (more proof of how long it’s been…) how _heavy_ Makoto is. But he doesn’t mind, and it somehow even feels good, almost like he lost a wrestling match to a better opponent. Makoto’s stretched out on him like a mattress, head tucked in Haru’s shoulder, and Haru gradually untwines from him, letting his legs finally slip down, letting go of Makoto’s back. He makes a little groan as his shoulders move; he really was hanging on for dear life, and he’s gonna feel it tomorrow.

Makoto lifts up at the sound, alarmed. Haru gets his chance to carefully pull his glasses off and set them to the side where they can’t get any more abuse.

“Haru - ! Oh, God!”

Haru just smiles tiredly up, but something is clearly not okay with Makoto. His hand idly fiddling with Makoto’s hair slides to the bed with a thump as he pushes up – _springs_ up, to sit over Haru, a look of near-horror on his face. His huge eyes are pinned to Haru’s.

“Oh, God, what did I do to you. Haru, God…!”

Haru’s surprised to find he’s too done in to get himself up, and he wishes he could, because Makoto looks so scared kneeling over him, and being down on the bed isn’t helping that at all.

“What are you talking about, Makoto? It’s fine.” It’s better than fine. It’s like he went to a masseuse using a radical new approach who just hammered all the tension out of him, and somehow he aches both more and less than he has in recent memory, hollowed-out and boneless.

Makoto glances down, looking his still-half-hard cock and leaking hole over, his expression of horror hardening. “I _used_ you, Haru.” Haru slowly shakes his head, but Makoto storms on, “I fucked you like a sex toy. You didn’t even get to come.”

Somehow Haru’s able to force his body to sit him up then, moving gingerly and unable to hold back a wince as something in his hips _pulls,_ and Makoto grabs his shoulders.

Haru beats him this time. “Makoto, stop it. I liked it, okay? Stop worrying.”

“How could you _like_ that??” he demands, hands heavy on Haru’s shoulders. Haru just blinks up at him, with nothing to say that won’t make him sound… sick, or weird, or worse. Revealing just how good it felt for Makoto to use him, take what he wanted, to _want_ him.

“…because it was you,” he finally says, his voice tiny, almost like a kid’s.

He isn’t expecting Makoto to recoil back from him, for the look of disgust he feared so much in his fantasies to finally make an appearance. Then it’s gone, his face smoothing into a neutral mask, and he slowly runs his hands down to Haru’s.

“Let me give you a bath, okay?”

Haru nods, watching him, _wondering,_ but Makoto just eases him to the edge of the bed. He puts his feet down to walk (or hobble, more-like) but suddenly Makoto’s stooping and then Haru’s up in his arms, the silly wedges hanging heavily to the side and his arm around Makoto’s shoulders.

 _At least I won’t trip and die,_ he thinks, but the image of newlyweds won’t leave him again, as they go over the threshold to the bedroom like a wedding night in reverse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to the fabulous Meatball for her help and insight on this chap ♡ :)

**Author's Note:**

> Dax here: Welcome to our silly little stab at this. We're both co-writing virgins, and so if you've read anything from either of us before, you know you're in store for some disturbing mash up of fluff, and probably some fruit from my end, and then an assault from Maybs's unholy skills in the angst department. 
> 
> Hi gang, Maybe talking! IT IS SUCH AN HONOR TO WRITE WITH THIS INSANELY-TALENTED woman, I can hardly stand it. And I must give all props to her incredible plotting mind for getting this going, not to mention her uncanny grasp on these characters. Thanks so much for the fabulous comments and kudos so far, and we'd love to hear what you think! ♡
> 
> Stick around, it's gonna be fun! (...depending on your definition of "fun"...)


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